


Things You Said . . .

by hauntedlittledoll



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Harry Potter References, M/M, things you said
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 8,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5398430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedlittledoll/pseuds/hauntedlittledoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a kind of power in words.</p><p>(Collection of Prompt Responses)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Things You Said at the Kitchen Table

Maura found Mr. Gray in her kitchen, blithely drinking tea across the table from one of her littlest nieces.  The child in question was meticulously applying an even coat of sparkly gold polish to the hit-man’s nails.

“Won’t that make your usual level of discretion somewhat difficult?” she teased.

“I do wear gloves for much of my work,” he nodded toward a pair of particularly nice ones.  "… but one should never underestimate the intimidating effect of a good manicure when questioning someone.  Isn’t that right, my dear?“

The last was aimed at his young manicurist rather than Maura.

"Never,” the little girl promptly echoed, appraising her work carefully before screwing the cap into place.  “An unexpected detail can often do the work of multiple fractures,” she recited carefully.

Her namesake would agree.

“I think that I’m going to be a hit-man when I grow up,” the child continued, “and a beautician.  That would be unexpected, wouldn’t it, Mr. Gray?”

“Quite,” he agreed.

The little girl beamed.  Then, remembering her manners, she turned back to Maura and asked sweetly: “Would you like your nails painted, Auntie Maura?”

“Thank you, Callie, but I’m afraid that Orla beat you to it,” Maura said with mock-gravity, displaying her _Waterlily_ -hued nails.  “I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful hit-man, however.  And beautician.” She carded her fingers carefully through dark braids.  “Why don’t you go practice on Blue’s boys?  They’re waiting for her in the Reading Room.”

Callie found this agreeable and the six year old disappeared to inflict certain damage upon the bodies and/or egos of privileged young men.  Maura couldn’t be prouder.

Mr. Gray seemed to be equally pleased by his unexpected student, although he maintained his usual expression of polite disinterest as he stood to pull out Maura’s chair.

“Her mother is a pacifist,” she remarked, taking the seat in bemusement.

“As am I,” Mr. Gray returned, extending his cup to her with the soft gaze that Maura could call her own.  “We all have our little hypocrisies.”


	2. Things You Said Under the Stars and In the Grass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blue & Ronan; Gen

Cabeswater at night is eerie in its familiarity.

They don’t often venture out here after dark without good reason, and Blue thinks a good part of that is due to Ronan’s unvoiced fear and uncharacteristic caution.

Cabeswater in the daylight is beautiful and filled with wonders.

Cabeswater at night is the Cabeswater of the greywaren’s dreams.

Night horrors are a disturbing possibility.

“They can’t touch you,” Ronan says out of nowhere.

Blue tries to smile even though he can’t see it in the dark.  “Yeah, I know.  I’m a mirror.”

“They can’t touch you,” he says again.  It sounds like a promise or maybe even a prayer.  They’re not having the same conversation.

Blue hesitates.  Then she scoots across the grass a bit until they’re sitting next to each other properly.

If Ronan is Gansey’s sword, Blue is more than a mirror.  She’s a shield.

“They can’t touch you either,” she whispers back, pressing her shoulder against his.

For a beat, Cabeswater is still.

Then Ronan exhales slowly and knocks shoulders in a companionable fashion.

They sit like that as they wait … a pair of silent sentries for a magician’s work.


	3. Things You Said at the Top of the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blue & Ronan; Gen (w/ references to background Adam/Ronan & Blue/Gansey)

This had been a terrible idea.

Blue didn’t fit in here.  She didn’t even stand out in the way that usually made her feel proud and unique and a little bit rebellious.

It was hard to be rebellious when the conservative elderly guests seemed to find her usual attire “just darling."  She might have inadvertently started a fad amongst the Queens of Virginia with her sparkly butterfly hair clips.

She couldn’t even get properly annoyed with the other guests.  Maybe it was the party, but everyone somehow managed to be perfectly polite if helplessly well-cultured.

It was as if Blue had stumbled upon a whole flock of Ganseys–for every careless remark that made her grit her teeth, she found some charming oddity or habit to balance the evening.

The highlight was either the elderly hard-of-hearing gentleman that collected painted duck calls or the socialite just a few years her senior with a passion for botany–especially the poisonous flora of the Amazon.

Or perhaps it was when the mother of a senator had rolled her eyes at her son’s smooth excuse about a misunderstanding at the salon, leaning past Gansey to confide in Blue: "No misunderstanding.  I’ve always wanted pink hair and now I have it."  The sheer satisfaction in the old woman’s voice sounded so much like Calla that Blue had the sudden illogical urge to hug a complete stranger.

Blue had come to the party expecting to despise them.

There were principles involved.

Somehow, it was hard to actually follow through and despise them en masse after meeting them individually.  They all seemed to love her.  Or at least they loved that Gansey loved her.

Gansey had a way of making anything seem lovable–even Blue.

He was in full President Cellphone mode tonight, effortlessly steering each conversation to paint everyone in the best light, but at the same time, he was Glendower incarnate, holding court and accepting fealty.  It was a strange combination, and Blue ducked out before he could introduce her to one more person as if Blue Sargent was a name they should recognize.

She found Ronan sitting at the top of the grand staircase in the otherwise empty entrance way.  He was already disheveled and pretending to sulk, but he had a flask which he surrendered easily enough when Blue held out an expectant hand.

The burning sensation was not unlike some of her mother’s stronger teas, although it certainly tasted better.

Blue wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and took another drink.  Then she plopped down next to him on the top step, gathering the fluffy frayed tulle of her many skirts around her legs.

Ronan stole his flask back and threw a companionable arm around her.  Blue rested her head against his shoulder in case he was missing the weight of Chainsaw perched there, and they listened to the string quartet for a bit.

Blue couldn’t place the strangely familiar song, but it was pretty.  
   
"I don’t belong here,” she whispered eventually, lulled by the music and the warmth of Ronan’s side.  
   
Ronan made a noise that was somehow both disdainful and supportive.  
   
“Gansey belongs here.  You belong here."  As much as Ronan belonged to any place rather than making all places belong to him.  "Adam belongs here.”

Blue resented that a little bit; Adam was supposed to be as out of place as she was so that they could commiserate in a corner and mock the other guests for being part of a world so detached from their normal every day existence.  Instead, he was charming politicians left and right, smoothly polished in his good suit.  Although …

Blue squinted through the bannister’s rails into the ballroom.  She was reasonably sure that Adam’s tie hadn’t been that burnished shade of gold earlier.  She seemed to remember it being a mottled green in his hands when Adam was anxiously knotting and re-knotting it in her guest room’s mirror beforehand.

Much like the one loosely draped around Ronan’s neck.

“You wouldn’t know subtlety if it bit you,” Blue huffed in exasperation, switching tracks and tugging the tie free.  Silk.  The tie was fucking _silk_.  She blamed Ronan.

Looping it around his neck again, she studied the ends carefully.  Blue Sargent had never tied a tie in her life–the wide end should come out on top, right?

“Gansey may be super unobservant, you know,” she teased, experimenting with a slip knot, "but Helen has the eyes of a hawk.“  And possibly a photographic memory when it came to Adam’s appearance.

"Why do you think I switched the ties when he wasn’t paying attention?” Ronan snorted, batting her hands away.

“Because you’re a horrible person,” Blue answered.

“You’re a horrible person,” Ronan retorted without an ounce of resentment.  “But,” he shrugged, “they kind of like us that way.”

Blue’s witty comeback died in her throat, and she slumped forward, wrapping her arms around her knees.  “They’re kind of stupid.”

No argument from Ronan.

He scooted down a step, leaning back against the railing and stretching his legs along the entire length of the step with room to spare.  “Gansey hasn’t dragged me along to one of these in years,” he confided.  “Probably thinks Parrish can keep me from setting anything on fire or fighting with Declan."  Ronan snorted.  "Shows how much the King knows.”

Adam, Blue knew from experience, would watch.  Watch and verbally eviscerate anyone who dared criticize Ronan.

It was hard to believe that either of them considered their affections _subtle_.

Blue rested her chin on her knees.  “They think we belong.”

“We do belong,” Ronan countered, “where it matters.  In Cabeswater.  In Monmouth.  The Barns.  Your hellish den of estrogen and small undecided people.”

He didn’t count Aglionby, but the school had never meant to Ronan what it meant to the others.

“I wanted to belong here too,” Blue admitted.  “I wanted to be part of everything, but I still want to be me."  She gestured at the settling crowds in the ballroom.  The music had stopped, and Mrs. Gansey was approaching the front of the room to deliver her speech.  "These people don’t see me.  Not the ‘real’ Blue Sargent.”

Ronan shrugged.  “I guess the 'real’ Blue Sargent isn’t a total loss.  Chainsaw likes her."  He ticked off her supposed virtues on his fingers: "She’s talked with ghosts and slain mythical monsters, cheated death and recycled time … she can even drive a stick."  He dropped his hand, jostling her shoulder instead.  "Glendower, himself, still owes her a favor.”

Blue tried not to grin, but she was pretty proud of that one.

“So the way I see it,” Ronan continued, climbing to his feet and gesturing wildly to include the ballroom where everyone was now dutifully paying close attention to Mrs. Gansey’s speech.  “… these poor souls get one taste of reality–of _magic_ –in their pathetic lives.  And then they go back to their clubs.  Their trust funds.  Collections, causes, charities … it’s a tragically boring existence, Maggot.  Who are you to deny them that little bit of magic?”

Blue eyed him skeptically.  “I’m pretty sure the 'real’ Ronan Lynch would tell me to fuck Washington.  Preferably with fire.”

“The 'real’ Ronan Lynch would happily assist you in that endeavor if you were so inclined,” Ronan intoned solemnly in his best Gansey-imitation, hauling her off the steps with one hand.  “He would helpfully suggest that you start with the hideous tapestry curtains in the back parlor.”

Blue shook her head.  “No,” she said aloud.  “The 'real’ Blue Sargent is going back down there, kicking ass and taking names.”

“Pity,” Ronan shrugged, all loose limbs with sharp-edges.  “So what does the 'real’ Blue Sargent think about riding the bannister down?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on,” he prodded.  “Everyone’s looking the other way.”

“No,” Blue refused again.  She wasn’t Adam.  Ronan had no power over her.  “We can’t.  Gansey’s mom is making her speech.”

“Mrs. Gansey won’t care,” Ronan argued, glee in his eyes and his most dangerous smile on his lips.  “I’ve done worse.”

Blue believed him.

“C'mon, Maggot,” he wheedled in a sing-song voice.  “You know you want to.”

Blue looked at Ronan.  She looked at the lovingly-polished bannister.

“I’m going to regret this,” she muttered, gathering up her skirts.

“Only if you don’t stick the landing,” Ronan told her, offering her a boost and clambering up behind her.  _“Excelsior!”_


	4. Things You Said that I Wish You Hadn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blue & Gansey (w/ bonus!Ronan); Gen

“It’s an ambitious project,” Blue warned, glancing from Gansey’s journal to the designated wall.  It looked somewhat out of place, having been recently cleared of leaning book towers and the post-it notes that mapped out their hunt for Glendower.

It had also acquired a fresh coat of paint since yesterday … as had Gansey and Ronan.

Blue was disappointed to have missed what had obviously been an epic paint battle.  Gansey’s hair had taken on an unfortunately solid frosted appearance, but he had managed to slap Ronan across the shoulders with both hands at some point.  The resulting splatters gave the appearance of pale angelic wings down the boy’s back.

Blue hoped that Noah had taken pictures.

“You don’t think it can be done?” Gansey asked, collapsing next to her on the mattress.  Ronan grunted at the shifting weight, but didn’t move from where he was sprawled across Blue’s lap, the knobs of his spine serving as her makeshift lap desk.

“I don’t think you can finish it before the end of spring break,” Blue corrected, glancing back at the journal.  The spine had given out at long last–too many treasures sandwiched between pages of frantic script–and bits and pieces kept trying to escape as Blue thumbed through its remains.

She rescued a good photograph of Ronan and Noah climbing a tree in Cabeswater, tucking it back into a section on Glendower’s court where it was serving as some kind of marker.

Maybe a collage wasn’t a terrible way to preserve the journal after all, she thought, running her thumb over a blotted coffee stain.

“Maybe,” she said aloud, “if Adam and I could get some time off …”

Gansey shook his head, tugging the back cover into place again.  “No sense in rushing it,” he reasoned.  “After all, we haven’t even found Glendower yet.  Ronan and I were just getting the grunt work out of the way,” he teased, “before we called in an expert.”

Blue rolled her eyes.  “It is my ‘expert’ opinion that this is going to take a literal ton of _Mod Podge_.  And half of forever to accomplish, even with five people.”

“Once school’s out,” Gansey waved dismissively, smiling at the wall as if his artistic vision was already in place.  “After graduation–we’ll work on it together then.”

Blue pretended to study a passage on Gwenllian rather than acknowledge an empty promise.


	5. Things You Said While I Cried in Your Arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adam & Blue & Gansey; Gen (w/ referenced Adam/Ronan)

Adam only answered the door on the off chance that it was a nun.

It wasn’t.

And while it would have been one thing to shake off Gansey, Blue had a grip like a boa constrictor.

Adam didn’t bother trying to peel her off.  Blue would bite just as soon as coddle, and Adam wouldn’t put it past her to try both.

So he shut the door in Gansey’s face instead, shuffling back to bed and face-planting into the pillow.

Blue gave a muffled yelp as her jaw collided with his shoulder on the way down, but she only tightened her grip around his torso as a result, defiantly hooking her bruised chin over the offending shoulder.

Adam ignored her.

There was a soft click from the door from Gansey letting himself in.

Adam ignored that too … just like he ignored the soft thuds of Gansey kicking off his shoes and the groan of his mattress under the weight of a third person.  Adam was capable of ignoring a lot of things.

Blue shifted slightly against his side to accommodate Gansey cautiously draping an arm over Adam’s shoulders.  He probably had his fingers tangled in Blue’s hair since it lacked the usual festive rainbow of clips.  Blue laid her own arm over the small of Adam’s back, curling her fingers into the worn material of his sweatshirt.

And Adam stayed an immobile lump in the middle with his face still buried in the pillow as the others made themselves comfortable around him.  It was a tight fit on a twin size mattress, but they made it work.

Gansey opened his mouth a few times, but always closed it again without actually saying anything.  Gansey always tended to say the worst things in the most well-meaning way, and his current silence was a sign of character growth.

For a long time, Blue didn’t say anything either as they laid there on either side of him.  That was fine.

As far as Adam was concerned, there wasn’t anything left to talk about.

He pretended to sleep, and the others pretended not to notice the way his shoulders shook and shuddered from time to time.

Ronan had planned this final outcome all along, and none the wiser, Adam had _helped_ him check each item off his bucket list.

Revenge against Greenmantle.  _Check._

Wake his father’s dreams.  _Check._

Ensure Matthew and Chainsaw’s safety.  _Check._

Destroy the indestructible mask.  _Check._

Save Gansey.  _Check._

Adam … not checked.

He had put Ronan off.  Adam had shied away from this growing thing between them, because he was afraid that putting a name on it would change everything.  He wanted, but he hadn’t _earned_ it yet … and Ronan had accepted later with fucking aplomb.

There would be no later.  The shitbag.

“He was a shitbag,” Blue said aloud, seeming to echo his thoughts or maybe Adam had spoken aloud.  It was hard to tell.  Gansey made a noise—shock or disapproval or even agreement too muffled to be clear—but Blue shook her head fiercely, pressing her pointy nose and chin into the thin gaps between Adam’s ribs.  “He really was,” she maintained, quieter this time.  “But … he was our shitbag.”

And wasn’t that the perfect eulogy for Ronan Lynch?


	6. Things You Said Too Quietly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adam/Ronan

"Stop that," Adam said in exasperation, shoving Ronan lightly and brushing at his ear.  
  
Undeterred, Ronan darted in close to whisper something else.  
  
Adam shifted away from the ticklish sensation of warm breath.  "You know I can't hear that," he complained, hooking his thumbs on Ronan's jaw to reel his boyfriend in and divert the other boy's focus with a kiss.  
  
Ronan promptly brought his hand up to trace the ridge of useless cartilage instead, and Adam gave up.  
  
About 90% of the time, Ronan displayed the utmost consideration for Adam's deaf side.  When he wanted Adam's attention, Ronan planted himself on the right.  And when he didn't, he buffeted outsiders from Adam's left through sheer force of presence.  
  
The remaining 10% of the time--whenever Ronan was in a particularly obstinate or affectionate mood--he liked to whisper in Adam's left ear.  
  
Adam shivered at the breath against his ear again.  "You ever going to tell me what you're saying?"  
  
Ronan leaned back, bemusement on his face.  "No."  
  
"Why not?" Adam asked, preparing to take offense.  
  
"Because," Ronan said, leaning close to Adam's right ear this time, "some things are not meant to be heard, Parrish."


	7. Things You Didn't Say at All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Piper/Colin Greenmantle

Piper spent very little time considering her husband until she lost him.  To be honest, she had never expected it to bother her very much then either.  She had a very comfortable life insurance settlement, more properties than she knew what to do with, and the Third Sleeper's gratitude.

She also had Neeve which was neither here nor there.

But what Piper seemed to be lacking was _her husband_.

This bordered on the ridiculous.  Piper was a sociopath.  Colin had been a sociopath.  They were comfortably disagreeable life companions at best.

He showered her with wealth and otherworldly wonders.

She allowed him belief in his charming little façade of being some great criminal mastermind.

They both enjoyed complaining about vacations that neither wanted to take and driving fast cars, expensive foods and even more expensive wines.  They had a certain affection for the dangerous unknown as well as the comforts of their various homes, and secretly, they both enjoyed watching the assorted minions scurry from afar.

And then Piper insisted upon getting _involved_.

And now Colin was _gone_.

And all the silent appreciation for her (carefully maintained) appearance, the scornful bemusement with her various hobbies (always short-lived, temporary things as Piper's boredom caught up with her), the indulgence of a million petty whims (and an astronomical water bill every month), the way he never said "I love you" without that comfortable caveat of "second-best" (except in the way he brought her tributes affecting carelessness as he heaped newer and better wonders at her feet) . . . all of that was gone with him.

Piper never thought she'd miss it (him).


	8. Things You Said that Made Me Feel Real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Niall/Aurora Lynch (w/ bonus wee!Lynch Brothers)

Niall was a good father.

He was the best father, and all the long absences truly meant were the overjoyed reunions that followed them.

He was also a good husband, so carefully attentive and lavishing adoration upon Aurora whenever she was within his reach. He turned to her like a compass pointed North, and Aurora thought . . . sometimes . . . sometimes, she thought that maybe the universe had gotten it reversed.  That she was the dreamer and Niall, her wonderful perfect dream.

"Niall," she called sweetly from the porch.

He turns as always--as if he can't help himself--and smiles his best smile for her.  The honest one that has a little danger and a lot of love wound around those dark features.

"Yes, oh, light of my life," he called back.  Niall had been chasing Matthew around the yard with Ronan and Declan hampering his efforts by attaching themselves one apiece to his legs.

"Let's go out for dinner," she suggested, delighted in her beautiful family and eager to show them off.

Niall agreed, making use of his long reach to snatch up the distracted-Matthew and spin him around wildly.  "Hear that, Matty?  We're going out.  Your mother says so, and your mother knows best."

Ronan and Declan swiftly abandoned their position to clamor at his heels.  It was hard to tell at this distance, but they were either trying to secure Matthew's release or demanding a turn for themselves.

Aurora felt her heart swell to see all of her boys so happy.

Niall somehow managed to separate himself from the pack and returned to the porch to claim a kiss.

"Where would you like to go?" he asks her as if he doesn't know the answer.  As if he doesn't know every detail of Aurora Lynch, inside and out.  As if he hadn't created her.  As if she were real.

That, Aurora supposed, was what _made_ her real.


	9. Things You Said at 1 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blue, Gansey & Ronan; Gen (w/ background Blue/Gansey and Adam/Ronan)
> 
> Remix - Adam, Blue, Gansey, Noah & Ronan; Gen (w/ de-aging shenanigans)

"Can't sleep."

Before Gansey could flounder to full consciousness, a heavy weight falls onto the mattress between Blue and him.  Thanks to gravity, they both roll towards the larger intruder.

Gansey nearly elbows the man in the ribs.  Blue poises briefly as if she's about to kick, but swiftly re-settles.

"Just the baby," she mumbles, and Gansey sincerely doubts that she's all the way awake or she wouldn't be handing Ronan "Shitbag" Lynch so much ammunition.  "Your turn."

It was always Gansey's turn, but he's learned not to argue.

His best friend just looks back at him, largely unmoved by the disturbance that he's created.  "Can't sleep," he repeats.

"I can't either," Gansey says automatically, holding up his book as proof.  He's lost the page.  He's still wearing his glasses even if the frames are slightly bent from being mashed into the pillow.

Ronan doesn't call him out on the lie, however.  He just steals Gansey's pillow and makes himself comfortable.

"Entertain me."

"Isn't that Adam's job now?" Blue mumbles into Ronan's shoulder; she's curled along his back sometime in the last minute to leech body heat.

"Midterms," Ronan says moodily like it's some kind of terrible curse word.  His eyes flutter closed as Blue begins to trace patterns in his short hair.

"Ah," Gansey shifts, because he vaguely remembers something to that effect.  "I can read?  I have the _Complete History on International Dowsing_ . . . which is much more compelling than it sounds, I promise.  Or we can go for a drive?  Bring back doughnuts for the others?"

Ronan makes a noncommittal noise.  His eyes are still closed.

Blue's are not.

Gansey obediently lowers his voice, tossing out a few more suggestions--growing steadily more ludicrous as Ronan fails to respond.  When not even the promise of public graffiti or drag racing can stir Ronan, Gansey lets the silence settle.

He removes his glasses, carefully setting both them and the book aside.

Ronan stirs perhaps five to ten minutes later--tense and insistent.  "Can't sleep," he says again as if they haven't broken his cunning code.

"Hush," Blue commands sleepily, wrapping her arms around him.  "We've got you."

* * *

**Remix (or that one where Cabeswater de-ages Adam and Ronan for _Reasons_ )**

* * *

Gansey startles awake when a forty pound living bomb lands on his midsection.

"Just the baby," Blue mumbles, rolling away.  "Your turn."

It is always Gansey's turn, but he's learned not to argue.

Instead, he blinks blearily at the small intruder.

Ronan Lynch, age four and a half, stares back at him without an ounce of guile.  "Can't sleep," the little boy whispers at last, growing bored with the staring contest and rolling off of Gansey to make himself comfortable between his temporary guardians.

"No?"  Gansey rubs at his eyes which leads to the discovery that he had fallen asleep with his glasses on.  Luckily, they're not bent.  "Why not?" he asks, rescuing his discarded book from under Ronan's curly head.

"Nightmares."

A compelling argument from any four year old.  An oddly valid threat to this one.

To his eternal consternation, Blue sleeps with her switchblade under the pillow.  Gansey keeps his weapon of choice locked in the file cabinet that serves as a nightstand and a baseball bat in the corner for good measure.  He's leaning towards the latter as he asks--still carefully conversational--"Did you already have one?"

Thankfully, Ronan shakes his head in the dim light of the reading lamp as he nestles back against Blue.  She's rolled over sometime in the last few minutes without Gansey's notice.  She curls her entire body around the little boy as if a human shield, and this Ronan is small enough and bold enough to make use of it.

"They're waiting," he adds.

"They can wait forever," Blue mumbles.  "Where's Adam?"

"He wouldn't come," Ronan sniffs imperiously.  "He isn't scared.  He said so."

Gansey shares a wordless look with Blue.  _Your turn_ , her eyes say.  It is always Gansey's turn.

So Gansey swallows a sigh, crawls out of bed, and heads for Ronan's room.  The boys were sharing the rapidly baby-proofed space until Cabeswater could be persuaded to do something about the situation.  No telling when that may be.

Noah is already there, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed and conversing seriously with the second child in their care.

Five is far too old for baby talk, little Adam Parrish tells them, and Ronan echoes him promptly in his never-ending quest to impress the other boy.

But Ronan still calls Chainsaw "birdie."  He commands "up" and "down" and drives Gansey crazy with "why not?"  Ronan still insists that the tags be cut out of his shirts and the crusts off his sandwiches.

Adam makes his own sandwiches.  He picks up after Ronan obsessively, ties his own shoes, and says "yes, sir" and "no ma'am" in that charming little Southern drawl.  Gansey finds the last trait particularly unnerving; he doesn't think Noah or himself quite rate "sir."

They haven't noticed him yet, so Gansey knocks lightly on the doorframe.  Adam flinches, but the older boys pretend not to see it.

"Midnight snack in the big room?" Gansey offers.  "I think we have leftover pizza.  And brownies."  In a mug.  Gansey is both amazed and appalled by the ingenuity.

Adam likes brownies in any form, and he gives this offering serious consideration.

"We could watch a movie on Gansey's tablet," Noah adds.  "It would help keep Ronan awake."

Lies.  All lies.  If Ronan has ever been able to sit through so much as the previews of a film, Gansey has yet to see it.  Adam, however, would be unconscious the moment his head hits a pillow, so he'll never know the difference.

Noah offers his hand.  Adam doesn't take it, but he does get out of bed and pad softly across the floor to Gansey's side.

Small victories.


	10. Things You Said in the Back of the Theater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blue/Gansey w/ Noah (and background Adam/Ronan)

"I am the fifth wheel," Noah whispers into Blue's ear out of nowhere.

It is only through a judicious application of control that Blue doesn't upend her soda into Gansey's lap.  Instead, she very carefully set it in the cup holder between them, straightened her skirt, and turned to their newly-arrived ghostly friend.

"Really, Noah?"

"Of wheels, I am the fifth," he reports gloomily, indicating Adam and Ronan with a little wave.

Blue looks past him automatically and immediately wishes that she hadn't.  She promptly refocuses her attention on the movie screen where bad CG monsters continued to terrorize a community more fragile than Gansey's cardboard Henrietta.

It's an awful movie.  Blue would be pissed if she spent money on this terrible movie, but she hadn't.  Blue had relaxed her rules on this special occasion, because this is how Adam wanted to celebrate his first bonus . . . and Adam clearly has other things on his mind right now than the enormous ants bent on destroying their nation's capital.

"Noah," she says very carefully.  She doesn't bother being quiet.  No one else would be caught dead or alive at this movie which is really just a grand excuse to pretend they're all the careless teenagers that they never got the chance to be before Glendower and Cabeswater and college.  "Is there a point?"

"I am the fifth wheel," he repeats, even more tragically.  "The spare tire.  I am the spare.  I am . . . I am Cedric Diggory."

Blue maybe digs her fingernails into his arm just a little bit, but Noah doesn't notice.

Gansey clears his throat before Blue can take more drastic measures.  "That's a compelling theory.  You should share it with Ronan."  When Noah and Blue both turn disbelieving eyes on him, Gansey smiles and removes his glasses to polish them.  "No, really.  Ronan's a secret Potterhead.  He mapped out everyone's fictional counterpart ages ago.  For example, Jane would be Hermione Granger," he indicates Blue with a genteel nod, " and I believe he has Noah classified as Neville Longbottom."

Noah promptly flickers out of existence in the seat next to them and reappeared across the row in Adam's vacated seat.  Blue very deliberately does not turn toward the startled squawk.

"You know Ronan is going to pay you back for that," she points out politely.

Gansey shrugs.  "No reason his date should go uninterrupted when ours . . ."

Blue leans over to silence him with a kiss.  "Hush," she commands him in a whisper, "and put the glasses back on."


	11. Things You Said After You Kissed Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maura/Gray Man

There is nothing about 300 Fox Way that the gray man does not appreciate in all of its vivid, noisy, whimsical, crowded, chaotic glory.  It is a spectacular assault on the senses, and one day, the gray man will have enough personality again to wear those orange bell bottoms down to breakfast.

And due to the nature of Fox Way, the day that he finally does, no one will even notice the change in attire.

It’s a lovely thought–a good goal for those days when Maura tucks something bright and potentially inappropriate into his pocket or he can consider the grey tie with tiny black pinstripes that had been a gift from Blue for Father’s Day.

_(Artemus’ tie may have been homemade, but it is also constructed from burlap.  Blue softens at her own bemusing rate.)_

The gray man has not yet worn the tie that Blue had given him, but he keeps it neatly rolled in his go-bag just in case.

Black seized its own kind of attention even in the most tasteful and delicate of patterns.

This makes the gray man an anomaly in the colourful whirl of 300 Fox way … a dingy smear of the all-too-common tucked amongst some of the most uncommon individuals that he has ever had the privilege of knowing.

He does not belong here, but room has been made for him nonetheless.

The grey man has little to offer in return.

He teaches Calla newer and more effective ways to destroy an opponent.  He serves as a bland, tasteless guinea pig for Maura’s tea experiments and treated Blue to a quiet lunch out every Sunday.  And on his very best days, the gray man allows small children of vague parentage to paint his fingernails alarming hues before concealing the manicure under his nicest pair of grey gloves (another thoughtful gift from Maura).

300 Fox Way is a refuge–a sanctuary every bit as important to the gray man as St. Agnes is to the Lynch brothers.

It is not, however, the place to ride out a migraine.

Outside the bedroom door, someone’s toddler is going down the hall on a tricycle, cheerfully belting Taylor Swift’s latest at the top of her small lungs.  Downstairs, Jimi is attacking some unknown disaster with her ancient-yet-efficient shop-vacuum.  The phone is jangling in the next room as Orla loudly refuses to answer it.  Somewhere beyond that, a screen door is slammed, and Gwenllian begins to shriek in tongues overhead.

The gray man thinks longingly of St. Agnes and the blessed quiet of a Saturday morning in the empty church as he attempts to smother himself with Maura’s pillow.  Perhaps, if the gray man can bring himself to don the navy shirt that Maura had purchased teasingly for him, the priest may not recognize the mostly retired hit man.

_Necessary evils_ , he muses and reluctantly resolves to acquire a pair of quality ear plugs.  It will be a risky investment for someone in his line of work, but a worthwhile one.

At last, Maura’s perfume overwhelms the scent of lemon-fresh cleaner that had gone straight through his sinuses like a small caliber bullet, and the pillow is blocking out the dancing lights on the walls from a homemade wind chime of coloured glass shards.

Perhaps 300 Fox Way is its own kind of church.

The gray man is uncertain how much time has passed before Maura reappears and tugs the pillow from his grasp.

An hour. Maybe two.

According to the clock on the nightstand, it has been approximately thirty minutes.

He curls in on himself, feeling rather sympathetic to Sleepers and cockroaches alike in his current state.

Maura presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Gansey says that he can offer you respite,“ she murmurs.  "Apparently, Ronan took Adam out to the Barns for the day.”

The gray man regrets looking up at her quite so sharply, but once his vision stops swimming, he can see that her sympathy has not wavered.

“If you go now, Calla can drop you off on her way to pick up groceries,” Maura urges softly. “I’ll distract Wendy.”

As if on cue, the tricycle-riding, Taylor Swift-singing toddler loudly warbles _“Bad Blooooooood”_ as she goes past the door.

The gray man had not intended to start an informal school for pint-size future assassins, but everyone must start somewhere, and this endeavor seems to promise a comfortable, well-guarded retirement.

“You are a queen among women,” he informs Maura in a fervent whisper.

“And don’t you forget it,” she tells him lightly with another kiss. Maura wears no lipstick today in favour of a soft honey-flavoured lip balm that the gray man finds himself licking from his lips after they have parted.

He may be brave enough to don that navy shirt after all.


	12. Things You Said When You Were Scared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gansey & Ronan; Gen

Ronan had expected to find Gansey cranky, feverish, and miserable.

The other boy would either be curled up in bed and scowling at his laptop or sitting in the middle of Miniature Henrietta, swaddled in pajamas, robe, and the ugly afghan that Blue had made him for Christmas.

Ronan had not expected to find the great room completely empty.

It was unlike Gansey to disappear from the places Ronan left him.

Without good reason, that is.

So at first Ronan assumed that his roommate had braved the miserable driving conditions on some necessary errand. Perhaps he had been called to the psychics’ domain for some time sensitive Glendower-related mission. Perhaps they were once again out of orange juice, and Gansey meant to replenish his stock of cough drops, tissues, and cold medication while he was out.

But no, Gansey could not be running errands.  The Pig was still outside under a heavy coat of fluffy white snow, and the only tracks in the snow of the parking lot were the ones that Ronan put there with the BMW upon returning from school.

Also, Gansey’s winter boots–like the boat shoes and his house slippers–were tucked neatly under the bed.

Ronan scowled at said-bed for being rumpled, cool to the touch and entirely devoid of Gansey.

There were only so many places for Gansey to have been mislaid within Monmouth Manufacturing.  Ronan checked the darkened bathroom-kitchen-laundry first and then Noah’s neglected quarters.  He poked a few of the taller book piles to make sure they were stable and not obscuring their owner in some cleverly-arranged heap of leather-bound history.

And then Ronan stuck his head out over the lower levels–just in case Gansey had taken to tinkering with some mysterious and abandoned bit of machinery below.  Gansey’s impeccable manners had the tendency to slip while caught up in a project; it was entirely possible that Gansey had completely missed Ronan’s return.

It was less likely that Ronan had missed Gansey’s rear end hanging out of the machinery like some stuffed and mounted trophy, but he hadn’t exactly been looking for Gansey on his way in.

Unfortunately, a cursory examination turned up no sign of the errant boy-king, and Ronan had to make a quick side-trip to his room for Chainsaw before he could go about expanding his search to the outside.  He might need to call in reinforcements, because Ronan couldn’t imagine why Gansey would have left the building without the benefit of either shoes or Pig.

Fortunately, Ronan didn’t have to go that far to find his missing roommate, because Gansey was sitting on the floor opposite Chainsaw’s cage. He had somehow wedged himself into the narrow space between the dresser and Ronan’s bed with his head resting against mahogany instead of the mattress.

_“Kerah,”_ Chainsaw lectured disapproving as Ronan came to a halt in the doorway.

“Don’t look at me,” Ronan muttered, moving in and offering her his arm.  Chainsaw liked to stretch her wings and consider her current domain from a proper vantage point, before sweeping out to conquer Monmouth–a feat that would take her little time with Gansey’s weakened state.

Gansey had been fighting a losing war on this front from the start, and this was the saddest attempt at counter-invasion that Ronan had ever seen.

“I didn’t put him there,” he defended himself from the raven’s continued judgment.

Chainsaw loudly despaired of him. Or Gansey. Quite possibly both.

Then she took off to mark her territory with the shiny pop can tabs that Adam and Blue had accumulated for this very purpose.

Ronan turned back to Gansey, and considered the logistics of removing him from his current hidey-hole.  The odds of his friend sleeping through it were not good.

Maybe Ronan could just shove a pillow down between his friend’s head and the dresser and be done with it.  Gansey probably needed the sleep after all; he was going to feel like shit when he woke up either way.

_“Kerah!”_ Chainsaw warned loudly from the other room.

The bird was spending way too much time with the psychics.  Or Ronan.  Or possibly both.

Ronan crouched in front of Gansey with a put-upon sigh. “Up and at ‘em, Gansey,” he chided, nudging Gansey’s knee until he got a response. “You’re burning daylight.”

Gansey groaned and tried to shrink away from the intrusion. Unfortunately for the other boy, there was nowhere left to go, so Gansey finally cracked open one malevolent hazel eye to investigate the cause of his grief.

Ronan rewarded him with a toothy grin.

Gansey promptly closed it again.

Offended, Ronan poked him.

“Go ‘way,” Gansey ordered in a very small, very miserable, and not-at-all-kingly voice.

“Excuse me,” Ronan drawled out, “this is my room, Dick.”

“So it is,” Gansey acknowledged grumpily, opening his eyes again as if to inspect his surroundings for the first time. “What of it?”

_“What of it?”_ Ronan mocked, rolling his eyes as he took Gansey’s offered wrists and crossed his own arms for additional leverage to pull the other boy out of the gap.  “I thought Helen was kidding about the whole sleepwalking thing,” he teased, standing in one smooth movement.

Gansey managed it in three with some assistance. “I never sleepwalk,” he protested, scandalized by the notion despite tipping into Ronan’s side the moment he was vertical.

“Of course not,” Ronan snorted, getting an arm around Gansey in return before they both ended up on the floor. “You _deliberately_ shut yourself up in my room.“

“Yes,” Gansey answered tightly.

_He’s being very difficult to move on purpose,_ Ronan thought resentfully. _And heavy. Also on purpose._

“I thought that I heard …” Gansey trailed off with a self-conscious shrug. “… well, buzzing.”

“Buzzing,” Ronan repeated in disbelief. “Like …”

“… wasps, bees, hornets or the like, yes,” Gansey acknowledged fitfully, his free hand going to his ear.

Ronan hesitated. Then: “Gansey, it’s January.”

It was January. There were at least eight inches of snow on the ground, and the temperature hovered stubbornly somewhere in the single-digits.

Wasps seemed unlikely.

The detested creatures were either dead, migrated, or hibernating–whatever small stinging creatures did to survive the winter.

_Good riddance._

“I may have been a trifle hasty,” Gansey acknowledged without meeting Ronan’s eyes.

“Right,” Ronan muttered under his breath. “Hasty. And delusional.”

Gansey hummed a noncommittal refrain, and Ronan got a better grip on the other boy–one that had everything to do with the way Gansey was listing to one side and nothing at all to do with the reminder of a potentially fatal allergy.

“And what was wrong with the bed?” he grunted.

“Well, that seemed rude,"Gansey allowed, his eyes sinking shut again.

Ronan rolled his own and heaved the other teen in that direction, dumping Gansey onto the pristine covers of his scarcely-used bed.

"I give it an hour before Sargent shows up with soup,” he informed Gansey, detouring to collect his own handmade afghan and shut the door before landing facedown in the pillows on the other side of the mattress.

He had some defensive dreaming to do.

“We have to be up by then," Ronan insisted on principle.  "Got it?”

“I’ll set the alarm,” Gansey promised fuzzily without making a move to do so.

* * *

And if Blue _had_ to take blackmail pictures, at least she was good about bringing Ronan his own soup when he came down with Gansey’s cold.


	13. Things You Said When You Were Crying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adam/Ronan

"You've been in there for hours!" Adam yelled through the locked door.  "You're scaring Noah!"

This was a lie.  Adam hadn't even seen Noah since . . . since . . . well, Adam didn't think Noah would do something stupid.  Not now.  Not like Ronan.

But this was what Adam was good for.  In Gansey's absence, this was what Adam could do.  He could--would--handle Ronan and the oppressive force that was the other boy's grief.

For all the good that Adam seemed capable of right now, he may as well have tried comforting the door.

He was sitting on the floor pressed against the thin panel so that Ronan would trip over him the moment he left, and given Ronan's usual rate of alcohol consumption, he'd have to piss sometime.  Adam could wait him out.  Adam could wait anything out.

"How can I help?" he tried again, softer.  "What can I do?"

It wasn't the first time that he'd asked those questions.  They were the first things he'd asked Ronan upon arriving and the oppressive silence was his answer.  He'd asked Blue the same thing _before_.  And Noah.  He'd offered any service he could possibly provide to Helen and the senior Ganseys.  He'd practically begged Calla to give him something useful to do.

They could give him nothing.

So here he sat--knees pulled tight to his chest and eyes open and hollow inside--as he insulted and cajoled, shouted and begged in turn.  His entire focus locked on enticing Ronan Lynch out of the room that was more cage than home.  This was what Gansey would ask of him if Gansey had been given the opportunity to ask at all.

“Do you want anything?” Adam asked wearily.  "I can . . . I can . . ."

Whatever thought was meant to follow died away as Adam heard the springs of a never-used bed protest and then the slap of bare feet on the floor.  He didn't have time to unknot himself before the door ceased supporting his weight.  Unbalanced, Adam caught himself against the doorjamb and twisted to gaze up at Ronan.

"Yeah," Ronan said, his voice hoarse and his eyes wet.

Adam was caught on those eyes, because crying never much seemed like something that Ronan Lynch would do.

Crying was for broken things like Adam--something shameful and private.

Ronan wasn't like him.  Ronan drank.  He slammed doors and drove recklessly and raged against personal injustice in a way that was both self-destructive and attention-seeking.  He spat hateful words and asked questions that could burn someone from the inside out.

He kept all the good inside himself a secret.

No, crying was too tame for something as gloriously wild as Ronan Lynch, so Adam was forced to find another explanation for the shining tracks on his face and the rawness of his voice.  He was so occupied with that futile exercise, that he didn't comprehend at first.  He _heard_ , but Adam didn't _understand_.

"I want to pretend," Ronan insisted, dropping to his knees.  "Even if it's a fucking lie.  Just _pretend_ , Adam," he said.

Ronan was sprawled across his lap--face already buried against Adam's stomach--before Adam finished processing the request.

There was at least a minute or two where Adam's hands stayed clenched in the ill-fitting sweater that Ronan was wearing--one of Gansey's hideous pastel ones--as if Ronan might try to escape his grasp.  Then his brain kicked into gear, and Adam carefully unclenched first one hand, then the other.

One hand hovered uncertainly over the smooth curve of Ronan's skull with the half-formed idea of stroking hair that Ronan didn't have.

Likewise, his mouth hung half-open with a useless platitude stifled by his own grief.

_This shouldn’t be hard_ , he thought furiously. _People do this every day.  Ronan does it just by breathing._

He thought of the reverent way that Aurora kissed her sons on the forehead or clung to hands until they were no longer in reach.  He thought of the way Maura had peppered Blue's face with kisses upon emerging from the cave.  He thought about the way that his mother rocked him to sleep when he was small and in pain.  He thought about his short-lived desire to connect with Blue and the way she cried when Gansey claimed his first-last- _only_ kiss.  He thought of everything that books and movies and other people had told him about true love . . .

. . . and then he rejected it all.

How would _Adam Parrish_  comfort a boyfriend--his boyfriend-- _Ronan Lynch_?

_Desperately_ , he decided,  _because he's no good with grief or crying people._   He tangled his fingers in the yellow cashmere once more, but with his arms locked around Ronan this time.  _Selfishly_ , he added, darkly aware of this failing.  He expressed it by hauling Ronan a few inches higher so that he could curl his entire body around the other boy's.  _Silently_ , he knew,  _because words always failed him when they were most important_.  He stifles the wrong ones against Ronan's neck as he began to rock back and forth very slowly.  _As equals_ , he finished, when his own tears made their hesitant, strangled appearance.

Ronan immediately got his arms around Adam in return, because he always knew what Adam needed before Adam ever did.

Ronan couldn't even be selfish about a _lie_.

And Adam . . . Adam couldn’t even do this one,  _single_ thing that Ronan had asked of him.

He wasn’t pretending.


	14. Things You Said in Your Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adam & Ronan; Gen

"Adam."

It was just the one word, but it was his name and Adam had never heard Ronan talk in his sleep before.

Ronan went to sleep the way a soldier with PTSD might face a return to active duty.  He slept with his eyes screwed shut, teeth locked, arms curled against his chest or around his head . . . and Adam couldn't blame him.  If he saw the things Ronan did, he'd be wary of letting unconsciousness take hold too.

True sleep wasn't like the little mission-oriented naps that produced rewritten wills and fictional forensic evidence.

True sleep resulted in beautiful things like Chainsaw and Matthew.  And terrible things like the more abstract, _personal_ night horrors.  And Adam apparently.

He couldn't tell whether his dream-self was a good sign or a bad one from Ronan's motionless frame, but Ronan played those odds every time he gave into his body's demand for proper rest.

There was no rest for a dreamer.

"Adam," Ronan said again . . . with intent this time.  It was, however, all he said before clamping his mouth shut tightly like even that single word had been one too many.

Adam waited, but Ronan didn't wake.

So he got up from his desk and freed his quilt from the bed.  Then he cautiously approached Ronan's corner and wrapped it around the other boy's shoulders.

"It's not me," he said softly.  "I'm here."

Nothing changed in Ronan's guarded expression, but Adam hadn't expected anything to come of it anyway.

He went back to his books and let Ronan sleep.


End file.
